


Let It Be

by Safiyabat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected visitor interrupts Sam in a very private moment.  Set immediately after "Southern Comfort" (8.06)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Be

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts and tendencies.
> 
> Supernatural and the characters from the show are not my property. I make no money from this or any other work of fan fiction.

Sam carefully locked the door behind him, using all of the locks available and propping a chair under the door for good measure. Dean was probably fine. There was no reason to think that he was going to nut out and come after him now, but why take chances? It might be worse. He might not be feeling homicidal. He might be feeling chatty. Once upon a time that would have delighted Sam. His brother had clearly been traumatized, he was clearly going through some things and talking through whatever was going on in his head could only help him. 

The thing was, though, Sam had learned over the past twenty-nine years. He’d learned that while Dean might, on rare occasions, be persuaded to talk that would be all that happened. Dean would talk. Sam’s role was to shut up and listen. He knew on some level that it was right. Dean had a lot that he needed to get off his chest and he deserved all of it. He’d let him down, again. It had been in an effort to avoid letting him down of course. He’d believed him to be dead, but he hadn’t done anything to bring him back. Which would have told him that Dean was not, in fact, deceased. He still wasn’t sure what he could have done about Dean being in Purgatory. A demon deal? Even demons couldn’t reach into Purgatory; otherwise that whole mess with Cas that had apparently necessitated his own insanity wouldn’t have been necessary in the first place. It wasn’t like he had anything to offer anyway – no one had ever wanted his filthy soul. There was only one place it was going, and Hell was willing to wait. 

He made sure of his salt lines and checked his hex bags before sitting down on the bed. He’d screwed up again. The question was could he fix it? He’d unloaded more than a little on Dean when they’d gotten into the car after leaving Garth. Well, Dean had taken his leave of Garth. Sam had been too busy getting his temper under control and he really hadn’t minded missing out on the hugging. He did not like the hugging. 

There was another change. He’d been tactile once. Well, tactile for a Winchester. After Stanford the whole super-huggy Garth thing would probably have seemed a little weird but it wouldn’t have bugged him. Now it just made him want to stab the guy and that really wasn’t a good thing. The hunter community in general didn’t have a high opinion of Sam. (No one did.) Stabbing the guy who had apparently taken over for Bobby Singer would not earn him any kudos. Once upon a time the simple act of a hug, a pat on the shoulder, a bumping of arms in passing would have brought him comfort and not split him evenly between homicidal rage and a strong desire to barricade himself in a closet. Times change. People change. Freaks change. Monsters change.

He looked at Ruby’s knife. Funny how after all these years it was still “Ruby’s knife.” She was certainly past using it. He’d held her down while Dean had run her through with it, her too-hot blood running over his hands. She’d have kicked Dean’s ass all over that motel room for pulling a gun on him, for all the punches. Hell, she wouldn’t have let things get to that point in the first place would she? She’d used him, she’d manipulated him, but she’d been the last person to defend him. And she’d sincerely mourned with him when Dean had cut him loose, just before he’d let Lucifer out of the cage. (At her urging, of course.)

Once upon a time this knife would have been necessary to kill him. Now he was pretty sure a normal life would do the job. Of course, pretty sure wasn’t positive. Not permanently, anyway. Freak. Monster. Abomination. A normal lead pipe had done it, and so had a shotgun blast to the chest, and a lightning strike, and – well, a knife to the spine, but that had been a long long time ago. Before he’d thrown away so much of his own humanity. And none of those deaths had been particularly lasting, had they? 

Would the next?

And would Ruby’s knife be any different than any other knife? Would he just bleed out like any other wound, proceed directly to Hell, not pass Go, not collect two hundred dollars? The great thing about Ruby’s knife, though, was that it eradicated the demons it slew. They did not return to the Pit. They were granted oblivion. Could it do the same for Sam? Whatever bullshit line Zachariah had tried to feed him about Heaven, he knew the truth even if Dean didn’t. That whole scene had been manufactured from the start. Every piece of “his Heaven” had been designed to drive a wedge between him and Dean, to further separate them and drive them to yield to the fate that the angels had engineered them for. The best, the absolute best, he could hope for was Purgatory. He didn’t want Purgatory. He could probably handle Hell. It wasn’t like he wasn’t already familiar with it, and it wasn’t going to be any worse than the Cage. That didn’t mean he wanted it. The whole point was that he didn’t want anything.

Ruby’s knife… what if it could give him what he wanted? Oblivion, a complete cessation. No Heaven, no Hell, no continuation of consciousness or awareness or anything. Just the complete annihilation of his entire being. Nothing left to screw up, no one left that he could possibly hurt. Dean … hell, Dean wouldn’t even stick around to salt and burn his bones, but that was fine. He wasn’t worried about Dean trying to haul him back this time. If he got the complete end he wanted it wouldn’t be possible anyway, and Dean wouldn’t care. Hell, the last time he’d come back from the dead Dean had rejected him, hadn’t he? He’d only gotten back on the road with Sam when Sam hadn’t given him a choice. That whole baby thing – he stood by the choice to involve Dean, really, what the hell would he have done with a baby even if he’d had a soul at the time? But it was just one more example of how he poisoned everything he touched. Dean had had a life, and as soon as Sam’s shadow brushed across it he’d destroyed it even without meaning to. 

He reached into the bottom of his duffel and pulled out the amulet. Its familiar weight pulled his hand down. If there were any doubts left in his mind they were gone now. The bag with his clothes had disappeared from the Impala after his last death, and he’d more or less expected that. Why lug around a sack of clothes four inches too long for you? But he’d hidden the thing in the bag with his other effects, his weapons, his journal. Nothing had been touched. Nothing had been looked at during his entire time in the Cage. He’d hoped that Dean would find it while he was gone, accept it again, accept him now that he was dead. No dice.

He could see his breath.

He rose to his feet. The salt lines looked intact but he could have missed something. Something like the air conditioning vent, he noticed. That was what they got for spending extra cash on hotels. He gripped the knife a little tighter, more out of reflex than anything else. He should be immune to possession. Of course, so should Dean, and Dean had been possessed only that day. A form began to take shape in front of him. She was blonde, in her thirties and wore jeans and a shirt. “Hi, Sam,” his mother’s voice greeted.

His mouth went dry for a moment. “You’re not real.”

“Define real.” She shrugged and leaned against the wall. “I’m a real ghost if that’s what you mean.”

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?” 

She laughed a little. “Good point. Before you go check, your salt lines are fine. Such things don’t bother the one who sent me here, and since they put me right into your room they don’t keep me out. Now I can’t exactly get out without this … person’s intervention either.”

“And who would that be again?”

“Someone you saved. Someone who cares about the state you’re in.” 

He barked out a laugh. “The state I’m in. Right. What state would that be, again?” 

“Well, we both know that knife isn’t going to work on me, Sam. And you were toying with it before I got here. Let’s talk, Sam.”

“I’m not much for talking. Besides, I only have your word that you are who you say you are. The last two times I saw your face were both illusions.” He paused. “Three times,” he corrected, “but one was a hallucination, not an illusion.” 

“Right. Detox. I remember that. The one who sent me filled me in on a lot of things before sending me.” She paused. “Dean’s upset by the separate rooms, you know.” 

“Maybe he shouldn’t have pulled a gun on me.”

“Oh, honey, you know he was possessed.” She looked at the amulet. “Are you ever going to give it back to him?” 

“This?” He huffed softly. “I’ve been waiting for the right time, you know? But it’s never going to come. I’ve screwed everything up, too badly to go back. It’s just a hunk of brass to him now. I should just sell it.” Let him sell it when I’m gone, he amended silently. He tossed it back into the duffel. “What is it that you want here?”

“Can’t a mother want to comfort her son?” Her mouth quirked up and her hands trembled. 

“I haven’t exactly accepted that you are Mary Campbell,” he retorted. “And even if you are, there’s no reason for you to want to be here with me.” He had slipped, started addressing her like she was who she said she was, but he had to address her as something didn’t he? “She – you – never really knew me. I was just some infant. Not much different from any other infant really. Dean’s the one you loved.”

“Oh, Sammy.” Her face fell. She reached up – had to stand on her toes to do it – and caressed his face with her icy hand. He tried not to flinch away. The chill was a little too familiar for his comfort and yet it was as close to comfort as he was going to get and he needed that, craved it so badly right now. “I am so, so sorry that you feel that way. I adored you, Sammy. You were such a quiet baby. You almost never cried, only if you actually needed something. You slept through the night so quickly. You only ever smiled for Dean, though. Never for me, never for John. Just Dean. And he loved being your big brother. He never liked to be apart from you while he was awake. He loved to hold you, he loved to feed you. He loved to play with you and sing to you.”

“I’m afraid those days are over.” He sighed and stepped away from his mother’s shade. “Besides. If the one who sent you back got you all caught up you know I’ve done… a lot of stuff. If you are who you say you are you shouldn’t want to be anywhere near me.”

“Everyone’s made mistakes, Sam. I made a deal with a demon that started everything, remember?” She sat down on the bed and patted the space beside her. “Sit down, Sam. Talk to me.”

“I shot your father in the head.”

“If I had the chance I’d have done it myself, after what he did to my sons. I wouldn’t have needed the excuse of that bug in his ear to do it either. You and I, we had a lot in common, Sam. I still can’t believe that John raised my boys to be hunters.” She shuddered. “If I ever see him again I’m going to have to kick his ass. That’s not the point right now, though. I’m here to take care of you. Dean did quite a number on you today.”

He shrugged. Whatever this was – hallucination, illusion, very weird reality – engaging would allow him more time to figure it out and get rid of it. If that was what he wanted to do. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

“You did a good job of standing up to him later. You don’t often do that.”

He gripped the knife. No, he didn’t often do that. Back in the bad old days Ruby had done that, stood up to Dean for him. And Ruby had been a backstabbing demon. Ruby had led him along the garden path to letting Lucifer out of the box. “I shouldn’t. There’s no defense.” 

“That’s ridiculous, Sam. You’ve made some less than stellar choices but so has he. He’s making them now. He’s reminding me an awful lot of your father at the moment, and not the version of your father that I married. I mean the version of your father that tried to force you into a life you didn’t want, that you weren’t cut out for.”

“He wanted me prepared for what was coming.” The patters in the blade were beautiful, intricate. Intoxicating, really. “So that I wouldn’t endanger Dean.” He let out a little chuckle.

“Dean made his choices all on his own, and they helped lead to the choices you made. If you hadn’t been so desperate after Dean’s deal you never would have considered taking the drastic steps you did. Do you think you could put the knife down, son?”

He looked up at her. “What are you trying to get from this situation?”

“Well, I never got to have the first day at school conversation with you, or the ‘don’t worry about bullies’ conversation, or the ‘don’t take bullies to heart’ conversation, or the pre-prom conversation –“

“I didn’t go to prom. Dean snaked my prom date out from under my nose – on prom night – and Dad dragged me off to a salt-n-burn in my rented tux since Dean was off screwing around with Rachel and he needed backup.”

“Hmm.” She sat down on the bed beside him. “Right. I’m guessing you weren’t overly attached to this girl in the first place, given that you hadn’t been in the town six weeks.” She put an icy arm around his chest. It probably would have been his shoulders if he’d been a normal-sized person. “Sam, who was the last person you actually spoke to? I mean had an actual conversation with, about yourself?” He thought about it for a moment, glanced down at the knife again. “Really? Sam, that’s not healthy.”

“The only people who have ever wanted to talk to me about me are demons. Which makes me very suspicious of you. It doesn’t tend to go well.”

“You had a woman in Texas.” 

“Yeah. I did.” He sighed. “We kept each other afloat, I guess. I cared for her. Still do, I suppose.”

“But she has no idea who you actually are or what ever went on in your head.” She shook her head. “You should talk to your brother, Sam.”

“Even before… you know, before I became what I am… he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to know. He just wanted me to go on and follow orders, not think, be a good little soldier.”

“You were never cut out to be a good little soldier, Sam,” she sighed. 

“No. No, I wasn’t. And I never will be. I know that I’m a freak. I know I’ll never be ‘normal.’ I know that I can fake it, for a while.”

“Can you?” She brushed some of the hair out of his face. “You only interacted with Amelia on a regular basis, and she still didn’t know you any better when you left than when you met.”

“I can fake it well enough to not stand out,” he acknowledged. “Satan’s in his box, no one’s coming for me for any great big reason. There’s no reason that it has to be me running around out there killing things. I don’t see why I can’t have a quieter life. A stable life. I liked that. Even after Amelia and I split up I was just living up in Montana, in the cabin up there by myself. It was nice. Stable. I liked it.” He wasn’t sure why he was opening up to this ghost or demon or whatever it was, but once the floodgates were open it seemed like his body wouldn’t let him shut up. It had been a long time since he’d been allowed to speak. “And when Dean came back I was legitimately happy. I figured he’d want to rest, build a life up again, you know? But no. He was more disgusted by me now than he was when I was on the demon blood, more willing to treat me like luggage than he was when we were looking for Dad.” He’d unconsciously used Meg’s phrasing from all those years ago but what the hell, if the shoe fits. “I wanted my brother back. I got my father.”

“So leave. Go somewhere. You know how to fake credentials as well as anyone. Get a job in a library somewhere. This –“ she indicated the knife – “is permanent.”

He snorted. “I’ve tried that, remember? Stanford? He hates me, he’s disgusted by me, but he can’t let me go. It’s too ingrained in him. ‘Watch out for Sammy, Dean.’ ‘Look out for Sammy.’ ‘Keep an eye on your brother, Dean.’ ‘Save Sammy or kill him, Dean.’” Tears were actually running down his face now. He blinked them back. “He might leave me alone for a while. A year. Two. Maybe even three. Hell, he turned me away when I asked him to come back to the life when he was with Lisa and Ben. But something will come up and he’ll decide I’m shirking, and he’ll show up and drag me back in like he always does.” 

She was quiet for a moment. “You could say no.”

“I’ve never been able to say no to Dean. Not for real. Not when it counted.” He hefted the knife again. “There’s only one way to actually escape. And this is it.”

“Sam, stop.” She put a hand on his arm, gently lowering the blade. “No one wants you to die.”

“Except me.”

“All right. Fair enough. But all this will do is prove Dean right. Finish out the whole ‘Gates of Hell’ thing. Prove to your brother for the last time that you can be the hero we know you are.”

“I’m no hero.” He huffed and looked at the knife again. 

“Norse mythology and that hammer in the trunk of your car says otherwise,” she chided him. “And come on, your first day completely back to life you killed a dragon. With a broken sword. Never mind jumping into the Cage voluntarily to save the world. You define hero.”

“I broke the world. Dean was supposed to slay the dragon.”

“He didn’t though, did he?” She guided his head down to her shoulder. He resisted briefly but ultimately gave in. “Look, Sam, I’m not trying to say that you should think you’re better than Dean. I’m just saying that you should think better of yourself. And you know, put the knife away.” She patted his hair. “I’m so sorry things have gotten this bad, Sammy. I want them to get better.”

“There’s only one way that can happen.”

“No, Sammy.” She rocked him back and forth a little. “There are other paths. You just can’t see them right now.” He knew he shouldn’t relax in front of this… whatever it was. Hallucination. Ghost. Whatever. Still, it had been so long. So incredibly long. He let his mother’s image, no matter what its origin, rock him for a while as his tears fell until sleep overtook him.

When he woke the next morning there was nothing to indicate that anyone had ever been in the motel room with him. The salt lines were untouched. He was no longer at the foot of the bed, but under the covers with his head on the pillow. His bags were on the table, everything neatly packed and folded. His shoes alone had been removed and been placed neatly at the foot of the bed. Ruby’s knife was under his computer bag. The amulet was draped over the duffel. 

His phone buzzed on the bedside table beside him. Dean. Of course it was Dean. Who else would call him? It wasn’t like he had friends. “What?” he said, answering.

“Are you still in a snit?” his brother demanded wearily. “Whatever. It’s time to get going.” 

And where exactly were they going again? They didn’t exactly have a job to get to. “Give me five minutes.” He changed quickly. No time for a shower, he supposed. Whatever. Dean would have to deal with the stench. Another day, another ten to twelve hours cooped up in the Impala. Maybe a library somewhere wasn’t such a bad idea.


End file.
